Killing Me Softly
by ImaginaryInk
Summary: Set on Planet Vegeta: The Crown Prince Vegeta and royal chambermaid, Bulma, have developed a hideous attraction for one another under the oddest of circumstances. As she resists her longing and he questions his desire, will they be driven by lust or ruled by love? The Innocent Affair, Royal Secrets, and Soft Simple Pleasures. 3-piece BV romance.
1. Chapter 1

**The Innocent Affair**

_**Bulma Briefs…**_

Another day has come and the afternoon suns flare fiercely toward their highest peaks. Slivers of sunlight pierce through the picture window, forcing its way through the undrawn curtain's tiny gap. I hear the water running in the background but not a sound is being registered. Everything seems distant whenever I succumb to my deepest thoughts. Such thoughts are the bane of my existence; something that I can never be rid of. But then again, without them, I might as well not live for they keep me sane.

I am kneeling on the bathroom floor with my hands stretched over the bathtub as I give it a last good scrub. The faucet valve squeaks some as I turn the handle off. My eyes then take in the spiralling motion of the water as it gurgles down the plug-hole. To this, I sigh deeply. My shift here has finally ended and it is time for me to take my leave before _he_ returns to his chamber.

_He_ being my lord and master – the Crown Prince of Vegetasei.

I am a royal maid, tasked to perform chores within the Royal House, specifically the prince's abode. Daydreaming and engaging in deep thoughts are my only form of escape while I run through mundane task after mundane task. For the millionth time, I go over in my head how I came to be in this place. It feels like it was only yesterday that I arrived here; solely to live and serve the Saiyans. And I freely admit that it is all I know.

My story began approximately 3,641 days ago. Earth day measurement, that is.

* * *

Ten years ago I was taken from my home and brought here to work. I was too young to understand the turn of events at that time. As I entered my teenage years, with seven days short of my eleventh birthday, all I could think of was my party, pony rides, cake, and presents – lots and lots of them.

Sadly, all I could remember was an ear-shattering explosion just before my house collapsed. The flames engulfed and burned my home down to the ground, not too far from where my parents laid dead.

In my solemn hour, I ran and hid away like a frightened child but grieved like a mournful widow for the loss of my home and family. I took refuge in the bushes of the compound and whilst, created a subconscious block where I did not have to feel any more pain. But before the numbness took over my senses, I whimpered out my aching heart and cried myself to sleep.

Voices were going back and forth not too far from where I was. At first they were soft, and then they were loud. My eyes popped open, and then there was only silence. I shifted upright and scooted backwards. My back hit a dead end and I hugged my knees to my chest, wide-eyed and trembling in fear as I waited for them to go away.

But they did not go away.

Instead, feet shuffled closer and a large hand pushed away the leaves that were concealing me from open view. He was a huge man with dark hair that ran all the way back to his calves, and when he knelt down on one knee, the muscles on his legs bunched up like the metal arm of a beastly excavator. His dark eyes had the same colour as his hair, and they analysed my pitiful form as he took a long look at me.

I bit my inner cheeks and stared back fearlessly, albeit the same fear fed upon me like a parasite. I dared not make a sound. I dared not look away.

The quiet moment passed us like a ghost and he extended a hand towards me. I flinched slightly when his thick finger brushed away a lock of blue hair that was matted against my face. Seconds later, he gave me a small crooked smile, be it pleased with my youthful appearance or my shocking state of disarray. He then gestured the same hand for me to take. I gave a cautious glance between his hand and eyes, and like a moth fluttering towards the flames and its inevitable doom, my tiny fingers reached out for it.

He took my hand and gently pulled me out of my safe place.

He led me into a space vessel and then immediately put me into a tiny cell wrapped by four grey walls. I stood amidst the darkness of the tiny room as I waited for his return. But he never came back. A weak glow radiated from the ceiling like a dying firefly, but was constantly attracting my attention as I cramped myself in the lonely corner.

I pretended that it was the moon, of which I would fawn over through my bedroom window nightly. My lips moved in accordance to the lyrics of songs I knew by heart, pretending that it was my Mama singing me to sleep. At this I realised that pretending made me remember; at the same time, it also made me forget. Occasionally, the slit on the door would open to reveal a plate of food and a bowl of water. It was all the action I ever looked forward to for as long as I was in there. This went on for days, weeks, perhaps months. For how long, I would never know.

The ship finally landed and the same man came back. He kneeled down to level with my height and slapped a weird-looking device around my right ankle. It was the first time I ever heard him speak as he firmly said that if I ever removed it, people would know, and I would die. Afraid for my life but not understanding why, I believed him and blindly obeyed. Nodding my head was all I could do.

He stared at me just like he did that night. A tiny grin graced his lips, this time a little warmer; a little softer. He looked to be in the age range of early twenty's but his smile reminded me of kindly old Mr. Echlin's, my personal butler. The cell's dim light casted a dark shadow over his face and no doubt mine's as well. Even as he was on his knee, I was still very much shorter and had to tilt my head to look at him.

"Are you scared, child?" he asked in a low whisper, as if he was telling me a secret.

My mind raced to discern my feelings of the moment. I may have been a child, as he had put it, but I knew my emotions like they were the back of my hands. They were mine and mine alone to determine what I should feel and not. Was I fearful? ... Indeed I was.

"No," I responded in a tiny soft voice.

He looked pleased with my answer because he reached for my face, extending a finger to push away a stray strand of hair from my temple. This time, I did not flinch. Again, he seemed pleased. A pat on my head showed as much.

"Be good."

Even though I did not question him, I figured it was his way of showing his own version of compassion. That was the last I ever heard or saw of him before they ushered everyone out of the vessel. I was immediately presented, more like given, to the Royal Family.

Part of me was eager to meet the King and Queen, but the sound of my own inner voice badgered me as it told me to keep a vigilant mind. Several girls of different races including myself were led into the throne room. As we appeared before the monarchs, the King sneered at some of us with much disinterest and disgust, save for a few of the older ones. The Queen, however, gave the rest of us an eyeful before giving a man, whom I believed was one of the councillors, a nod of approval.

We were then sent away, the younger ones to the servant's quarters and the older ones to what they called the women's quarters. It was easy to turn a blind eye to wherever some of the rejected ones were being sent to. I fell into the first category, which I figured was the better sort than the other two.

They lined us up in a white room, where we were stripped down bare, inspected, and screened. We were given shots and some kind of foreign liquid substances to drink. When asked, they conveniently said that such substances were meant to boost our immunities in the duration of our indefinite stay here. After that, we were sent to our tiny individual quarters, of which I shall forever be thankful for. They took my freedom. Privacy was the last thing I would want to lose.

I learned about the existence of the young prince when three maids, including myself, were instantly assigned to him. There were at least ten other existing maids upon our arrival and I wondered how could one boy need a house of his own with that many help. It wasn't in my position to ask such a question unless a death wish was in tow, so the query was dropped and eventually forgotten. Our sole responsibility was to tend to his enormous house that was situated in the palace's West Wing. While the other girls did the sweeping, mopping, and washing, I did the dusting, laundry pick-up, and cleaning of the bedroom and bathroom. It was then I began to truly hate my life with a passion.

Most of the royal servants were at least ten to fifteen years older than me and thus no common interests ever crossed our paths. There was simply nothing to talk about. They'd mind their own business as I would mine, lest one of us get punished or worse, sentenced to the death penalty for hearsay and deceit. But I knew the real reason to such detachments. They never wanted to associate themselves with me – the young girl who was a glutton for punishment.

My temper and spitfire nature had both earned me reprimands and punishments enough to last me two years in one. Some nights I'd return to my meagre quarters and cry for my past. Other nights, I'd gripe for my future. I did that often and was punished for it just as much. Being born into a rich family was not by choice, but neither was this hellish life. News travelled fast in the palace, thus my _situations_ were always conveniently escalated, where the monarchs would hear about the rebellious maid in the prince's household.

Actions such as indefinite suspension and public beating were sanctioned to bestow upon me, to serve as an example for the others should they scheme to revolt. But as legal property of the prince, he had enforced his will in the matter and had me taken off the radar. Whatever drove him to do so was considered madness in the eyes of his sire and matriarch. After much debate, they succumbed to their only heir's whim, in spite of the absurdity behind his demand. They simply brushed it off as one of his many acts of defiance but they didn't let me off as easy as I had expected. I was returned to the servant's quarters and then placed under strict supervision, having forced to undertake mandatory disciplinary measures from the slave warden.

The torments they put me through had me silenced but, luckily, not broken. And when they were done with me, I became a domesticated and docile individual. I rarely spoke or made eye contact with people ever since. They might as well have my tongue and eyes removed, but that would be a death wish in itself.

As much as I hated to say, if it wasn't for the prince's objection to my demise, I would have been dead or both mentally and physically damaged by the hands of the imperial court. It made me cringe to admit that I owed it to him to learn the sound of silence, in the very least.

Perhaps I should be grateful to still be able to breathe.

Since then, I became painfully aware of my hideous curiosity for the prince. I'd watch him from afar and he'd draw my glance towards him with every move he made. He was a difficult child – arrogant, proud, and entitled.

From the sidelines, I'd watched him grow up, becoming more and more like the young man and prince he was supposed to be. I came to learn certain things about him, mostly nonspecific and minor details, like the food he loved to eat, the colour he'd rather see in his personal space, and with the slightest of interest, the kind of women he fancied.

There were times when he'd speak to me, usually when a chore was demanded to be done. I didn't mind for I liked it when someone talked to me… when _he_ talked to me. He would not give me a second glance but I knew that he noticed me, and for that I realised I have been noticing him far more than I should. Thus, from a hideous curiosity, it turned into a hideous attraction.

He wasn't that much older than me, perhaps two or three years apart, but I always thought to myself, '_Have I gone mad?'_

I could just imagine the news that would travel to every ear across the planet, or worse, the universe; The Prince of Vegetasei and his chambermaid; in other words, impropriety and defamation to the crown prince and the Royal Family's name. Those allegations would immediately warrant me a capital punishment – exile or a clean decapitation.

Once, I heard an older maid say, '_The only affection you could possibly get from the prince is when he takes you to bed for one glorious night and then disposes of your broken body in the morning… if you make it through the night._' She had then turned to me specifically and warned with an underlying tone, as if she knew of my innermost desires for the prince.

'_Hear this, child. You are now 16 and the youngest here, but when you become an adult woman, you'd understand why he is the last person you'd want to be acquainted with.'_

If only she knew, but I would forever bind this secret to myself and bring it to the grave with me. No one must ever know of my yearnings for the young monarch, including the young monarch himself.

Wisely, I kept to myself, silently nodding my head in acknowledgement as I placed the laundry basket in the washroom. I'd heard her, but I did not listen. I have grown up to be a woman, and like a human female at heart, I become fond of things and people. I was constantly searching for something or someone to love and be loved.

I struggled to learn to keep an open mind; an open heart. Looking at life from various perspectives was something that I do to keep myself sane. Thinking helped too, and playing pretend in the privacy of my own mind was a bonus. As the years rolled by, I grew into a quiet shell and nearly stopped talking – no more whining, no more complaining. I remained silent and adapted to my new home.

And sometimes, if I remember, I'd miss my real home – _Planet Earth_.

* * *

Earth has become a distant planet that I read off the books.

_Books._

I scoff and shake my head at that thought. In all of Saiyan history, I am possibly the only person on the entire planet to be punished for reading.

The servants are never allowed to read, or bluntly put, be educated. It is my misfortune that I will never allow my brain to deteriorate either. The prince's study room is my favourite place in the house to dust and clean, mainly because that is where the literary mother lode resides. It is where books of Saiyan culture, history, science, politics, and law are all housed at, stringently arranged on shelves upon shelves. I always tell myself that one day, I will finish them all.

Reading has become an oddity in my life, thus I would take even the smallest opportunity to read, despite it being a strict prohibition. Saiyago is a spoken language that I understand all too well, what with after having lived here for a decade. But comprehending the written native words is a feat; a challenge, and one to three pages are all I can afford to indulge before someone becomes highly suspicious of me. But with each day, I'd read a little faster; recognise words a little better.

My daily routine is the same – dust and clean the prince's study as he sleeps, change the bed sheets once he awakens, and then move on to wash his royal bathroom and collect his laundry when he is out.

So here I am, finally finished with cleaning the tub. I put away the equipment and stand up to straighten my dress. My eyes skim around the room, giving myself a ghost of a pat on the shoulder for another job well done. I absolutely adore the spacious lavatory, especially the heavy blood red drapes that hang from the ceiling and flow to the floor as they tastefully mould against the gold-painted walls and pillars. The sink has a distinctive carving to it, being made of a mixture of pearl dust and marble, but the real sight to behold in this luxurious room sits from across said sink – the bathtub, which takes centre stage and naturally dulling the rest of the other features. I am certain the tub could easily fit up to ten people all at once.

Again, I shake my head for I can never understand these royals. _Why does the prince need this much of space, when he obviously doesn't need it?_

He has grown taller and more angular, and if anything, more majestic in his manner. From a difficult child who was arrogant, proud, and entitled, he has come to be an arrogant, proud, and entitled man. But he is the prince and he has his rights to be and act as such, so long as he deems fit. Furthermore, he is the object of my desires. If this was Earth, he would be called my 'crush'.

Enough with talks of the prince.

In my time here, I have learned to like some of the chores. For instance, I love scrubbing the tub, something about polishing the precious stones of which it is made of and seeing it shine after a good wash always gets to me. It is like an accomplishment, regardless of how menial it seems to be. As of now, I simply have to wrap up the place before I proceed to the next task.

Today marks the day I last saw my parents. Seven days more and it will be my 21st birthday, no doubt I will be spending it all alone. I didn't think it is possible for one to feel anymore sadder. Distant thoughts of my people creep into my mind. The idea of turning 21 years of age is something to be celebrated for but the notion seems so foreign to me. It is as foreign as I have felt about the last ten years of my life.

My fellow peers continuously contribute to the desolation I have come to know of. I always wonder why they have never taken a liking to me, and the grudge only continues to grow with time, as I have. Their detestation for me becomes a passionate hate crime, simmering at the bottom of their very souls. Again, I wonder why. More times than not, I think I know the answer but dare not assume.

One evening, as I was about to retire, my warden had informed me to dress provocatively the next day. When the matter came into question, the light had been shed.

Word had it that the prince had promised some of the men his best house maids in return for their loyal servitude. So after receiving news of it the warden had been quick to effectuate a subtle influence on His Highness, making me one of the top choices. This was so I'd be sent away, and they'd be rid of me. It was favourable to them, but not to me. I didn't want to be given away.

On the day of the selection, the maids were aligned into a single file as the prince screened us right before the arrival of his men. When he came closer, he had walked past me at first, but then took a step back and gave me a firm once-over. He became annoyed and I was immediately taken off the list. It didn't help that I had been the only one excluded.

Since then, I have been dubbed a '_royal leech_', '_regal parasite_', '_blue bloodsucker_', and the likes.

The name-callings continued for a long while. In truth, such insults only served to infuriate me even further for I have never once tried kissing the prince's boots, much less rub shoulders with him. There is nothing I can do or say to stop their mouths from running but the painful aftermath remains that I have to suppress the anger and swallow the scornful verbal abuse.

Three deadly cold winters coupled with the killing heat of two summers later, today, things are beginning to look up for me. And by saying so, I mean that people have finally ceased with the name-callings. I don't know what or how that happened but they left me alone ever since the prince lost his legendary temper one morning, some time a month ago. I am glad that I wasn't there to bear witness to his fury. Hearsay has it that two maids were disintegrated on the floor they stood on.

The tub is now dry and I proceed to return the cleaning tools back into the compartment just below the sink. The giant mirror before me beckons for me to give it a look, and as I succumb to its silent plea, a ghost is all that I see staring back – a skeleton of who I used to be.

My eyes skim down my maid attire.

I wear a long-sleeved black dress that hugs my curves at all the right places. The edges of the hem has half an inch of frills sewn on them, which fall just above my knees. Such uniform is complemented by a pair of black pantyhose and platform dress shoes, making my legs slimmer and my appearance, taller. A black satin choker encompasses my neck like a ribbon, embroidered with the prince's personal insignia which indicates that I am his property. The dress' neckline edges are sewn with white lace. It tastefully wraps my breasts with its low cut design while showing a sufficient amount of cleavage – not enough to appear raunchy but enough to look very much the royal maid I am supposed to be.

This is how the prince prefers his household help to look at any given time. At times, for image's sake and in the presence of his guests, we would be made to work and serve in three-inch high heels, which fashion style seems all too familiar to me.

I take in my defined jaw line, the deep grooves of my collarbones, my bosom, and my tiny waist. I look to be extremely frail and pale, and my body seems to be screaming at me, accusing me of depriving it food and proper nutrition. No doubt the lack of them contributes greatly to my slim figure, to which I am somewhat thankful for, but as long as I am not starving myself, it doesn't become an issue. And besides, no one starves in the prince's home.

A small while bonnet rests upon the top of my head like a crown, neatly framing my wispy bangs. I look into my own soft blue eyes before sweeping them over my long cerulean tresses, which are pulled up and tightly tied into a high ponytail where its tip flows and reaches the arch of my back. These two traits obviously add on to the account that I possibly possess something which the rest of the maids, or females for that matter, didn't.

I am a fair homosapien with blue eyes and hair.

Very rare.

Very_ exotic._

This is my curse. Perhaps this is the reason why the prince refuses to give me away, and possibly a greater reason why they are not very fond of me.

A loud crash from the living room snaps me out of my pitiful reverie. I freeze and my eyes widen as they dart towards the closed bathroom door. My ears perk up as the sound of shuffling feet drifts across the room, causing me to backpedal on my heels, away from the sink. All signs of sound gradually ceases just as quickly as they came, and my wary eyes remain glued to the door. Suddenly, another crash happens, louder this time and closer to the bathroom. Startled, I jump and gasp.

_Who would break in to the prince's house?!_

The beatings of my heart increase, pumping abnormally faster and deeper than usual. Never have I been subjected to face an intruder, possibly on my own, in the prince's home. No trespasser in his or her right mind would dare infiltrate this house!

_Do I remain in this room and wait for the trespasser to find me, or do I open that door and investigate?_

… Laughter.

I hear laughter.

It is feminine, obviously belonging to a female.

_Is the intruder a woman?!_

With a mind of their own, my feet slowly move towards the door. My trembling hand reaches out for the knob and with measurable strength and not-so-stealthy skills, I pull it back, leaving just enough space for me to peep through.

There are times when I wish I could withdraw my actions, and this is one of them. I suppose this can also be added to my list of biggest regrets.

What I am seeing has not only had me taken aback but my viewpoint of the prince has been completely altered. He and an unknown Saiyan woman are messing around in bed, tearing each others' clothes off. The only thing I am grateful for is that they have their backs to me. The fact that they aren't aware of my presence keeps me brazen enough to stare. They scare me though, what with their slapping and choking each other. Such violence, these Saiyans possess. They couldn't just leave it behind on the battlefield, could they?

But who am I to judge?

I close the door as discreetly as I can, making sure not to make a sound. The door closes in on her giggling, a trait that is absolutely uncharacteristic of a typical Saiyan female. I hear him respond to her angrily as if he is reprimanding her, which strangely made her laugh even harder.

_How can anyone give or like that kind of treatment?!_

My mind crumbles and I clutch my heaving chest. Frustrated, I start to pace the room.

_Oh, why did I have to open the door? What do I do now?!_

_Do I walk in on them, run out of the room, and risk getting punished?_

_Or do I remain here, wait for them to finish and be discovered, and then get punished?_

A quiet hopeless whimper escapes my throat and I drop down to the marble floor beside the bathtub. I pull up my knees and press my hands firmly to my ears. With eyes tightly shut, I hum to my favourite song to drown the sounds out. I go to think about happy thoughts, like my favourite colour, the taste of chocolates and ice-cream, my tenth birthday party and the happy smiles on my parents' faces, the prince's face-

_NO!_

I shout fervently in my mind as my eyes pop open. They dart towards the door while I press my back further into the wall, reeling back in horror.

_What in Saiyan hell was that?! How can I imagine his face when he is out there- with… with- Oh, what have I gotten myself into?!_

Very quickly I resume my earlier position. Clenching my eyes, I lean my forehead on my knees this time. I press my hands against my ears once more, so hard till my head starts to throb. Instead of happy thoughts, I decide to repeatedly recite the Saiyan battle and war constitution in my mind. So far, I have been doing well with drowning out the noises.

It must have been fifteen minutes or so when I finally open my eyes. My wary ears strain to pick up any sound they might have made, but thankfully, there is none. A part of me is relieved, but I am still very much alert. I start to get up and very slowly, tip-toe towards the door while applying the same skills of stealth I had just moments ago.

The door clicks open and it was then I realise that my list of biggest regrets will never end.

The rugged female is now on top of him, her back to me. While she rides him from above, he is thrusting his hips upwards, an action so hard and fluid that even knocking the wind out of her isn't fazing me at all. In all actuality, it is making me feel things that I know I shouldn't be feeling. I suppose I should react more prudishly but there is something about the way he moves that amazes me.

In all my life, I have only heard stories about sex or passionate consummation after marriage – or on Planet Vegeta, during mating – but never once engaged myself in any such discussions, much less seen anything like it.

As I watch the man carelessly thrust his hips and emit groans of pleasure, my throat begins to feel dry. My breathing quickens, going in accordance to his rhythm. I cannot see his face but his erotic grunts and moans fill my ears.

A lump forms in my throat and I swallow hard, unable to draw my eyes away. I stand here, completely frozen in place, as I shamelessly peep at the intimate tryst. I stabilise myself with one hand gripping on the knob while the other clutching tightly against the side of the door. I pull my bottom lip in and bite on it. After a while, he stops thrusting and simply lets his hands fall to the side while she works him. His hands clench the bed sheets, his fingers digging deeply into the fabric. I cannot help but think about how those are the very same sheets I have replaced just this morning.

I observe the way the muscles on his arms and legs flex, so strong; so powerful. At that, I unconsciously bite my lip again as my mind spirals into a spinning vortex. Whatever rationality left within me struggles to prevail, forcing me to look away and go hide. But I didn't. Instead, my feet nail themselves to the floor as I continue to watch him. Mesmerised, I am, till I can no longer see anything else but him. A few moments later, they stop moving, and before my mind can even register anything else, the prince gets up and leans forward, pushing the woman back.

He then pushes her down to the bed and in that instant, his lust-filled eyes meet mine.

He pauses, and I freeze, paralysed with fear.

I have been caught, and I swear that in that second, my lungs have burst and my heart ruptured.

He stays still for a second, possibly stunned by my being there, before he proceeds to act as if my presence didn't faze him at all. He flips the woman over on her stomach – none too gently – and then repositions himself behind her. He grabs her nape and carelessly pins her head down to the mattress. In that short transition, his eyes never left mine.

My senses return and I quickly turn away, albeit rooted to the floor with my fingers still clutched tightly on the door. The woman's moans return, indicating that they have resumed their activity, and for a very good reason, I wish my ears would fall off at the sound of her voice. But his groans trump her noises, travelling into my ears and arousing me to a level I have never achieved before.

I cave in to the desire and very meekly, turn my attention back to the room. And there he is, staring back at me with an intense gaze as he digs in to the woman, as if he had been waiting for me. My lips part at the sight of his face and the desperate need to tightly grip on to something beckons. My fingers curl and the nails scrape lightly against the quality timber of the door. He looks at me as though he is searching for my weak point, and he knows perfectly well that he has found it.

My body is beginning to feel hot and bothered, and a weird kind of heat starts to pool at the bottom of my stomach. With intensity comes sensuality, and he blatantly uses my own weakness against me, warming me up through foreplay with his coal-black gaze.

I repeatedly lower my eyes to the floor and then back up at him. My mind is barely registering their groans and moans as they begin to fade into the background. I bite my bottom lip and as our eyes lock once more, he speaks.

"How bad do you want to come for me?"

His voice is low and husky, sounding almost desperate; his face is flushed and burning with desire. I cannot look away. Just _how bad do I really want to come for him?_ He is doing things to my body; things that I cannot fathom or even begin to describe, much less understand! I stare into those darkened orbs, and as if I could see the reflection off of them, I know that all he is seeing… is me.

_How does one answer such an upfront question? _

Much to both of our amusement, the oblivious woman, in her lusty haze, responds to him but neither one of us registers what she said. His thrusts quicken, and so did his breathing. My body begins to tremble even more and just as the heat in my tummy starts to spread all over my skin, he pulls out from her and pumps his hardened shaft. Seconds later, the prince grunts, and a white substance splatters all over the woman's back like a jet stream. I lower my eyes and fixate my gaze upon his appendage; how engorged it looks from here, and how stubbornly it seems to be resisting to remain hardened.

I glance up at him as he falls back to sit on his heels. His chest heaves dramatically to draw in precious air.

"Get out," he demands gruffly, his eyes on mine. I know that the order isn't meant for me.

I finally pull away from the door and close it gently, cutting away his muffled voice as he repeated his order of dismissal. I pace the room once more and then lean against the wall, as if there is a safe place somewhere within these walls where I can be. I face the tub and tilt my head up to stare at the ceiling. I whisper a silent plea as I pray for a favourable outcome, whatever that may be.

"You can come out now," his quiet voice travels through the door.

Mildly startled, I inhale sharply and my eyes dart to the source. I move backwards hastily and my back hit the sink counter. I whip around and look into my own reflection, my hands quickly reaching up to my face. I am blushing and there is no way on Vegetasei that I can remain in here as I have wished. His Highness has called and I will have to go. But looking like _this_?!

I summon my courage and warily approach the door, my numb fingers pulling it open to reveal the room. The prince is leaning against his bed post – thankfully his lower body is wrapped with a towel – with his arms firmly folded. My eyes take in his chiselled half-naked body and my blush deepens the moment I look into his eyes. Despite feeling flushed with fever and embarrassed with being discovered, I can still feel the arousal he is evoking.

The intensity in his gaze is too much and I lower my head to look away. Fearfully, I address the prince.

"Your Majesty," I breathe out. I dare not look up for I know that if I do, the heavy lust would still be burning in his eyes. In spite of my desire for the prince and all the undesirable hearsays about him, the last thing that I want right now is to be taken by him; and surely not immediately after another woman. All I want as of now is to take off, to be away from his presence, if only for a little while.

"May I be excused, my lord?" like a mouse, I squeak in a quiet and tiny voice.

I feel his eyes pierce through my head, and regardless of my fondness for the man, I have never been more afraid in my life. After what seems and feels like an eternity, I dare a glance at his face, and a few seconds later, he finally responds with a simple grunt.

I curtsy upon receiving his consent, and without further ado, allow my feet to take flight as I head towards the bedroom door.

Without so much as a backward glance, I run out of the room, then out of the house, and straight into my quarters. It is an evening that I will forever debate if I should remember or forget.

_**To be continued…**_

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**I hope you liked the direction of this story.**

**Thanks for reading! Do review and tell me what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I am so glad you guys enjoyed the first chapter! I love the reviews! Thank you.**

**A/N: Read author end notes.**

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**Royal Secrets**

_**Prince Vegeta…**_

_Shit._

This is… absolutely unexpected.

I ensconce myself in the centre of the bed, resting an arm on a drawn up knee as I review deeply on the recent encounter, and set my eyes firmly on the closed bathroom door. I contemplate my next course of action, and after getting no favourable results, a scowl graces my lips and I move to retrieve a towel.

The house is empty by now, save for my presence and that of the blue-haired woman. Securing a towel around my hips, I pace the floor a little bit before taking a stand by the bed post and lean against it, facing the bathroom. My eyes narrow into slits as I recap the last ten minutes. Things had gotten wild, and then came along the servant girl, and before I knew it, things escalated and somewhere along the way, I asked her a question I possibly shouldn't have.

I shake my head and let out a scoff, inwardly chiding myself for that legendary fuck-up. Whatever possessed me to throw such a question at her is beyond me.

"You can come out now," I murmur with a frown, folding my arms and pinching the bridge of my nose in exasperation.

A click resounds and intently, I watch as the door opens in the gentlest manner, revealing a pretty face with blue hair. I may not know what to expect as the woman finally emerges, but what I do know is that she cannot stay in there forever, and it is for the best that we get this unpleasant confrontation out of the way as soon as possible, should there be one.

She steps out of the bathroom and stands a few feet from me, her fingers fidgeting nervously against her dress. Her eyes glance up and away intermittently as if she has committed something gravely erroneous. With an intense stare, I observe her bodily manner. I cannot deny that she is a lovely looking creature, perhaps more so than most females I have met, but something doesn't seem or feel quite right.

There is something about her; something disparate that sets her apart from other people that I cannot quite put a finger on. So I merely stand here and study her thoroughly, as if she is a lethal opponent. She looks up at me and her lips start to move. She speaks; her voice soft and gentle, like music to the ears. Her cheeks suddenly flare up a rich scarlet. She addresses me and then lowers her head, no doubt afraid to meet my gaze.

I give her a drawn-out once-over, appreciatively skimming my eyes down every inch of her length as if she is a work of art begging to be criticised and praised. A work of the gods she is, indeed. She exudes ethereal beauty from head to toe, but what makes her even more enticing and mind-numbingly alluring is the lingering scent of her arousal. I draw in a silent breath. It is heavy and yet lightly flavoured with her essence as if she is a piece of marinated tender meat thus making her all the more… mouth-watering.

I take in her tresses, the strands lustrous like a skilfully polished sapphire stone; they look soft to the touch. Her pearlescent alabaster skin is like marble, almost pale with a warm pink undertone, reminding me of a blossoming seedling in the snow at the end of winter… and yet, I still cannot determine what makes her so distinctive.

_Is it her hair or skin as I have thought? Perhaps it is her intoxicating scent but the only thing it gives me is a nasty tug in my groin._

Her lips move again but my mind does not register the words. Instead, I delight myself in sizing up her body once more. _Is it her curvaceous physique or her ample bosom?_ My eyes rest upon her face, and I briefly wonder if the sudden fascination for her had stemmed from her presence during the coitus. She glances up at me ever so meekly and as I drink in her gaze, it is then I realise it has been her eyes captivating me all along.

They are soft and delicate, liquid eyes. Almost instantaneously, I become lost in them, drowning in their crystal depths.

I hold my breath and let out a small grunt, inwardly chiding myself for not being able to figure it out sooner. But before I could even scrutinise and make sense of her entrancing pair of sight, she suddenly curtsies and then scurries away without another word or a backward glance. I blink and then watch her make a hasty retreat, my delayed mind finally registering the plea of dismissal she had asked for. Within seconds, she is gone and out of the house, possibly returning to her quarters.

My scouter buzzes loudly on the vanity, pulling me out of my reverie. I go to answer it with a heavy frown. Securing it on my left ear, I murmur into the device. It is my mother, the Queen. She summons me for an informal audience so I must go, but not before cleansing myself to rid my body the stench of sex. Minutes later, I am out of the house and making my way to the Royal Garden where the Queen currently is.

She smiles at me in greeting and coerces me to take a seat beside her, though I would rather stand than sit. Settling in only grants her the gateway to never stop talking, and that is the last thing I need as of now, but it is my duty to please the woman who gave me life. My mother begins to speak and unlike my father, the King, she seldom converses with me in politics and matters of the court, instead she would speak of ways to hone power levels and fighting techniques, which topic usually ends with the kind of mate I should pursue.

But my mind wanders, bringing me back six years into the past – the first time I truly noticed _her_.

* * *

I landed quietly on the outside windowsill of my study room, and ever so gently, pushed the window open to climb in. I hated arts and literature as I always found it to be absolutely useless, and thus, escaped the gripping leash the tutor supposedly had on me. As intended by my father, I was to sit still and not abscond from the class until the very last second; not even a moment earlier. But as a rebellious teenager of 17 years, notoriously known for going against the wishes of my elders, nothing could hold me down. Needless to say, my detestation for the lesson overpowered my father's will – prince or no prince. So I removed myself, more like took flight, from the class and came back home.

As I entered, a tiny gasp caught me off guard and I stopped dead in my tracks, thinking that it was my irritant of a tutor here to hound me. But it was the peculiar blue-haired servant girl who no doubt had been dusting this room before my appearance. She stood frozen in my presence and with a firm glare, I placed a finger on my lips, silently gesturing for her to remain soundless.

Footsteps shuffled towards the room from the hallway and both our gazes flew to the closed door. Quickly, I moved away and took refuge behind a rather large bookshelf. I could see the girl clearly from where I was and she turned away as the double doors swung open. Someone strode in and she proceeded to pretend that she had been alone. Then the person spoke.

"I was informed that Prince Vegeta has vanished from his class again and may have returned. Have you, by any chance, seen him?"

It was the slave warden. I recognised his disgusting croaky voice from a mile away. The girl shook her head and though I couldn't see the warden's face, I knew it held a sneer. The warden moved away from her and came closer to my vicinity. Cautiously, I pressed my back further into the wall. Any second now and I would be discovered, and I would never hear the end of it from the King.

Then the most unexpected thing happened. The girl scurried towards the far end of the room, causing the warden to turn away from my hiding spot. She had her hands clasped behind her back with an anxious look on her face. No doubt this roused a heavy suspicion in the warden and he ceased approaching my way, giving her all his attention instead.

_Clever girl._

"What have you got behind your back, my dear?" asked the warden sweetly. I cringed at the sound of his voice as he tried wheedling the female.

This time I could see them both and I watched the scene unfurl, unable to turn away. She surrendered a hand, presenting nothing but her feather duster. He frowned and nodded towards the other hand, of which she revealed that there was nothing there either. He scowled.

Without so much as a warning or reason, the warden raised his hand and whipped it harshly across her face. She uttered a sharp cry and dropped to floor, cradling her cheek. A triumphant grin spread across his features as he crouched over her, no doubt feeling proud for subduing those weaker than him.

"You have been reading in here, haven't you?" he said in a baritone voice.

"… N-no," the girl stammered, her fallen hair shrouding her face as if to protect her.

"Don't lie to me, slave!"

"I wasn't doing anything wrong!" she shouted back, defending herself. The fight in her was apparent, and for a frail-looking and utterly defenceless creature such as herself, what more in her position, it was a highly commendable act.

"How dare you talk back to me!" the warden cried angrily, and he slapped her face again.

He then got up and stormed to my work desk. The girl, albeit in a spell of disorient, tried to get up but before she could even lift her upper torso, the warden returned and smacked her head again, harder this time with a hardcover book that I had been reading.

"Here's a book for you!" he sneered, and I scowled. I took an involuntary step forward and my fingers fanned out, poised to attack and incinerate that bastard. But I stopped myself at the very last second.

This was a matter of the servants and I should let them resolve it on their own. But had I not played truant and came back here, she wouldn't have seen me and ceased on her chore, hence she wouldn't have been seen as if she was enjoying a brief respite.

Her whimpers filled my ears and I, angered, pressed my lips together tightly. I hadn't realised my fists were clenched until I felt my nails pierce the flesh of my palms, but I did notice the evident flaring rage that I had been trying to suppress. The warden crouched beside her once more and she recoiled from his hand as he reached out for her face. His anger dissipated as quickly as it came, and he caressed her sore cheek in a suggestive manner. My jaw tightened and I thought I felt a tooth crack.

"It is most fortunate for you that I have to be elsewhere but believe me, the prince and their Royal Highnesses will hear about this, then we shall see how your dead corpse talks back to me. Now get back to work!"

Without another word, the warden strode away, leaving the female in her pitiful wake on the floor. Once the coast was clear, I reappeared from my hideout and stood a few feet from her. Whimpering softly, she struggled to pull herself up, retrieving the hardcover book as she did. She hadn't noticed me, or perhaps had forgotten that I was still there, as she replaced the book neatly on my desk. She then glanced up and her eyes met mine.

A trail of blood streamed down from her temple, collecting into a drop and drying up at the tip of her chin. Her cheekbone was beginning to swell and was already showing a patch of an ugly purple hue. Her dishevelled hair framed her otherwise pretty features, and to think that I had put her there made me question my integrity for the first damn time. A sombre expression etched heavily on her face and she quickly lowered her eyes, not a word was exchanged. She then made a quick curtsy and scurried out of the room.

I blinked and watched her leave my presence. A frown graced my face as I mentally told myself that should my father and mother hear about this, I would intervene and correct my error, considering that it was my doing. It was a silent word of honour of which she would never hear.

Two days later, the King and Queen summoned for an audience with the slave warden and the servant girl. I stood on the right of my father and despite my best efforts, couldn't take my eyes away from her face as the warden dragged her down the aisle. The sleazy old bastard had her wrists chained up like she was a ferocious beast set to maul those within her vicinity to death if unleashed.

"State your case, warden, and it had better not be a waste of my time," boomed my father, his deep voice echoing throughout the grandeur hall of the throne room.

"This slave was caught reading in the young prince's study room two days prior, Your Royal Highnesses. And I believe she has been stealing, too."

My lips parted as the urge to argue that highly unjust point beckoned, but if I did, my father would know that I escaped class. Thus far, he didn't seem to realise that I had done exactly so. Wisely, I remained quiet and kept a steady gaze on the girl's lowered head. She looked to be extremely desperate in wanting to refute, and yet, seemed like she had given up. My fists balled up at the sight of it all.

"Is that it?" my father said scornfully, his impatience roused, "For this you called for an audience, how dare you waste my time with petty matters of the slaves!"

My lips broadened into a smirk as the attention shifted direction, diverting towards the bastard. But then my old man surprised me.

"If she poses too big of a problem for you to handle, I'd suggest you either have her disposed of or transferred to the women's quarters. She seems to be of the right age now."

"No!"

I didn't realise the sudden outburst had slipped from my lips until every head present turned to face me.

"… You have something to say, son?" my father queried with a heavy glare.

I looked from him to my mother, whose eyes were quietly judging me and watching my next move. I then set my gaze on the blue-haired girl, who was waiting expectantly for an explanation to my objection to her demise, just like everyone else in the room. Her eyes seemed to scream at me, silently pleading with me to think wisely before I act, lest we'd both get into trouble.

My brain raced for an answer but nothing valid came to mind, "She… cleans well."

At this, her brows drooped, and one of my father's brows arched with an is-that-so expression on his face. Meanwhile, my mother was clearly stifling a smile. I frowned hard and glared at my sire but before I could even say another word, he chimed in.

"So does every other maid in the household. That is a poorly thought-out and an extremely invalid argument. This girl is easily replaceab-"

"I said _no_, father!" I cut him off, showcasing my rebellious nature once more as my anger got the better of me, "This maid does a fine job and she belongs to me. I do not want another maid so when I say she stays, she stays!" then I turned to the warden with a finger pointing squarely at him, "And you… put another bruise on her body and I'll hit you across the face so hard you'd fly into the next dimension. If anyone is going to punish her, it'll be me. You don't get to decide her fate! Ever!"

As furious as I was, I was more surprised at the fact that the female did not flinch from my raging temper. Our eyes met for a few seconds before I had to look away. Unshed tears were forming in her limpid blue eyes, in which a hidden gratitude was clearly shining through. I had intervened and prolonged her life, if not secured it. I had kept my word.

I turned to face my father and found him glaring at me. He rolled his eyes with a frown before turning to my mother, asking for her input in the matter. My mother then sent me a knowing look, one that held the underlying notion that she was aware of the reasoning behind my recent defiance. I had hoped that was not the case.

"She is too trivial a matter to us, my King," she said fluidly, her voice calm and controlled as usual. She then turned to the girl and, no doubt, scrutinised her. With a small smirk, she suggested, "Why don't we let the prince deal with what clearly belongs to him. It will help him learn, and perhaps, realise a thing or two along the way."

With that said, the King dismissed everyone in the throne room. I remained where I was and watched them all disperse. I turned to the side of the hall and gazed into the back of my retreating mother and wondered if she knew more than she had led on. She was headstrong, feisty, and fierce, and if need be, she could be kind and merciful. I have been told that I was like her in more ways than one, so much more than I was my father. I turned towards the main entrance and as I watched the girl getting dragged away, no doubt back to my house, it had me thinking that perhaps there was some truth in it.

* * *

My mother's incessant chattering snaps me out of my reverie. I close my eyes, wanting very much for her to end this one-sided conversation.

"Enough, mother," I murmur softly and she quietens, her wise eyes staring at me expectantly. In all seriousness, and sick of her intervention in my private life, I question her, "What exactly is the kind of mate that you're expecting me to look for?"

At this, she first eyes me with a heavy suspicious glare, and then with a knowing smirk, says, "So long as she can prove herself worthy to be your equal in spirit, mind, and passion. She does not have to be stronger than you, for your duty as mate and future king is to protect and lead her as you would your descendants and empire. And while you rule with an iron fist, she must be wise, insightful, and compassionate, fierce if need be, as well as honourable and loyal, as would a well-adored mate and queen, for charm is deceitful and beauty is passing."

She then gets up and inclines her head to bid farewell, leaving me to dwell on the prerequisites of finding a mate in which she had just laid down. Her criterions did not state that my mate had to be a Saiyan, and for this, I shall bear in mind. I get up to leave the garden and briefly wonder what my father would have said to this. No doubt, he would object to the idea of taking in a non-Saiyan mate for the fear of producing a tainted weak heir, but why am I even going down this road?

The evening matures quicker than I have anticipated as I find myself lounging in the comfort of my living room and immersing in my finest alcohol collection with two of my best squadmen. They look to be mildly flushed, what with consuming strong concoctions, and are beginning to slur in their speeches, speaking nonsensical things.

The Saiyan on my left is Bok, an irritant of a lunk-head with a loudmouth, but his strength surpasses that of an average elite warrior. To my right is Oregan, another more-than-average elite warrior who is just as strong, but he is quicker than the latter, and much more perceptive. Simply put, one is a brute and the other, a battle strategist.

Bok asks me about the Saiyan woman – _Chamile, was it? I do not think I even know her name _– and how she was like in bed. I give him a stern look and then casually deny ever bedding her, to which the idiot defended her honour, stating that Prince Vegeta had, in fact, taken her to bed.

He drops the matter after realising what is brewing, lest it escalates into the implication that I am a liar. Surely he doesn't want that, even if he speaks the truth. Quickly, he deviates from the subject and proceeds to make idle conversations, this time asking the kind of traits in women we are fond of. Bok answers himself and then Oregan is next. Last is me and as they turn to me expectantly, I seep into deep thought, and as much as I adore surprises and giving surprises of my own, the first thing that comes to mind is the image of the servant girl.

"_Soft_," I murmur.

"Soft?" Bok repeats after me, no doubt my answer had surprised him. "That's definitely _not_ Saiyan."

"You are hiding something," Oregan states as-a-matter-of-factly and I turn to look at him squarely in the eyes, "… are you not, Vegeta?"

I smirk slightly as I refrain from answering. I am not denying, nor am I admitting to anything.

"Soft like how?" Bok chimes in, oblivious to our intense exchange.

Oregan seconds his motion, his eyes carrying a heavy know-it-all suspicion. I did say he is perceptive.

"… That is right. Define _soft_."

I look away and take a sip off my glass, smacking my lips to appreciate the bitter aftertaste. I then set my sight on the starry night through the balcony window, the blue-haired jewel's face taunting me in my mind.

"The colour of her skin," I start slowly, and sip another mouthful, "Her curves, her hair," then my focus begins to wane and I gaze listlessly into space. The girl's face appears clearly in my mind until all I can see is, "… her eyes."

A moment of silence graces us and then Bok bursts out in laughter, slapping his thigh as he did so, "Well, if and when you do find such a rare female, pass her on to me once you're done with her!"

I snap back to reality and feign a chuckle, my eyes then narrow into slits as I feel a sudden rush of anger simmer beneath my skin. I glare at Bok and then turn to face Oregan, whose lips are pulled back into a crooked grin, the depths in his eyes silently telling me that he is aware of something. Uncertain of the message being conveyed here, I turn away, pretending like I know nothing of his analytic gaze. He thinks he is smarter than me. Well, two can play that game.

The next afternoon greets me with its warmth and I wake up with a slight sheen of sweat coating my skin. My temples throb some as I push myself up, feeling the blood rushing up to my head, but it is nothing that I cannot manage. Picking up my scouter, I squint at the time and then proceed to go take a shower, already late for an informal get-together with my entourage. It takes me only less than ten minutes to dress up in my princely garbs, an annoying customary routine, if I must say. Without further ado, I proceed to leave the house.

Striding quickly towards the front door, I pass the study room and a glimpse of blue catches the corner of my eye. I halt and take a step back, leering into the room. And there she is, standing next to a bookshelf with her back to me and a feather duster in a hand. Her head is lowered as if she is…

_Reading?_

Very quietly I make my way across the room to stand behind her. She is unaware of my presence and I look over her shoulder, and realise why. She is, indeed, reading a book of science and is deeply engrossed, hence the obliviousness to my attendance. Discreetly, I breathe in her womanly scent – a natural aroma that is surprisingly so feminine, seductive, and _her_ – and then proceed to drink in the sight of her rosy cheek, her small ear and shimmering blue tresses, and the protrusive bones on the arc of her slender nape as she has her head tilted at a downward angle. She looks even better up-close, so much so I want to lick the sheen of light perspiration on her skin, just to get a taste.

She struggles to articulate a word, continuously mispronouncing and sampling the sound of it to get it right. Sad for her and much to my amusement, she fails at every try. I crane my neck to see exactly what is troubling her delicate tongue, no doubt would feel pleasant on mine, and how I can enlighten her.

"_eh-to_… _ee-toy-leh fil_... how in the world-?…"

I smirk, my amusement doubling as the word she is having struggles with is simply '_étoile filante_', and decide to make myself known.

"_E-twal fi-lante_. That means '_shooting star'_," I murmur into her ear, my voice just below a whisper.

She tenses up visibly and very slowly, like a shell of a ghostly person, closes the book and gently slips it back to its empty slot on the shelf. She swallows and turns her head cautiously to the side, her blue wide eyes finding my dark, intrusive ones. Panic forms on her face and I take a small backward step. Quickly, she drops to her knees, without so much as another glance up at me. Much to my disappointment, any indication of her remembering _that evening_ is absent.

"Your Majesty," she pleads before me, desperation flashing in her eyes. I thought her to be one who can speak, but her voice box seems to be failing her severely right now. _Am I so intimidating in her eyes?_ It strangely terrifies me to think so.

"I-I…" she stammers unsteadily, her speech and tone dwindling into a helpless puddle of begging. I do not like this, at all.

"Rise," I firmly demand, and in her state of confusion, she gets up with caution. Our gazes lock and instead of reprimanding her as I should, I enquire out of curiosity, "You like to read?"

That query comes off more as a statement than a question, and she nods her head warily, her sapphire eyes set on mine. Intelligence seems to shine through them, which revelation leads me to ask my next question, much to my surprise, "What kind of books do you fancy?"

"Science… my lord," she answers with care, her voice soft and gentle to my ears, as always.

I cross my arms and grunt in consent, specifically telling her, "Next time you want to read, keep the door closed, if not, locked."

She gasps and her eyes light up in an instant, no doubt surprised by my sanction of her secret hobby. Quickly, I turn to leave, extremely late for my gathering. As I step out of the room, I decide to give her a backward glance. She has her body turned away and hands compressed against her chest. My eyes take in her side profile and, lo and behold, I would have never expected a brilliant smile to grace her lips. It fits her and she looks absolutely gorgeous, nothing like I have ever seen.

The corner of my mouth curls up a little and I skim down her length with much admiration for her beauty. I glance back up at her face and lick my parch lips. Frowning one-sidedly, I shake my head and walk away, leaving her to commemorate on her newfound gaiety.

My entourage is turning out to be a severely boring bunch of ass-licking, boot-kissing scumbags. Not even ten minutes into the assembly and I have already begun to yawn, the urge to flee beckoning desperately. If anything, I would have rather waste my time elsewhere, for example, at the training arena or at home, for obvious reasons. Their chattering and bickering are triggering a headache, and I cannot further refrain myself from rolling my eyes at every lame remark or false-praise that come my way. I need to retreat from this.

"Do you read?" I ask suddenly, directing the question to a random elite warrior. He answers no, and I turn to the two Saiyan females beside me.

"And what of you?" I ask the one on my right, seeing through her pretentious nature even before she opens her mouth. She passes off a statement, something along the lines of how she values strength and power that I couldn't quite care to listen, no doubt a scripted line to impress me. I turn to the other female and nod to her, and she responds the same damn thing. All of a sudden these people disgust me greatly.

I get up to leave, unable to tolerate their presence any longer. And when asked where I am headed, I simply throw over my shoulder, "To the library."

It must have been a little after midnight when I finally return to the comfort of my home. I go straight into my study room and plunge into the cushioned chair. Tired and sighing deeply, I run a hand down my face and place the encyclopaedia of science onto the desk, one that I have retrieved from the library earlier today. I recline into the chair and prop my elbows on the armrests, intertwining my fingers and resting them on my stomach. I glare at the book, deeply questioning myself if I am doing something… stupid, or why I am even doing this at all.

I lean forward as my fingers go to retrieve a pen and paper, and without another thought, scribble the words '_étoile filante' _in an all too familiar set of letters. After carefully placing the piece of note atop the book, I go to retire for the night, leaving them there for the woman to discover come morning.

Upon entering my room, I discard my cape and armour to the side, and go to take a quick shower. I re-emerge within minutes and crawl into bed, but I do not sleep for it is hard to come by. Instead, I stare long and hard at the ceiling, probing the depths of my mind and unsettling emotions.

The servant girl is nothing but an unexpected accessory that happened to appear at the wrong place and time, hence immediately making her a desirable and sexual target to fawn over. And besides, she isn't unsightly but – prince or not – she isn't a female that I have the privilege to choose at random and take to bed either. She has been there, would I dare say _for me_, from the beginning; and what more, she is a frail alien chambermaid.

It is frowned upon.

I turn to lie on my side and glare out of the window. My eyes dart aimlessly as if searching for a resolution, but finding none. They focus on the walls, the curtains, the bedside table, a folded note on the bedside table that isn't supposed to be there… _wait_.

My brows furrow with heavy curiosity, and my hand reaches out and swipes the note off the table. I sit up and analyse the paper, it is similar to the one I used just moments ago. The way the note is folded seems like it has been preened with much care and intricacy, so much so that I am having second thoughts in crumpling the damn thing.

The front of the note has a weird-looking symbol on it. Two tiny dots are penned side-by-side, hovering symmetrically above an upward curvy bow. It looks almost to be a smiling face, only that it is handwritten; nothing like I have seen before – _amazing_. Slowly and gently like handling glass, I unfold the paper and what unveils from it causes me to… grin?

Like the symbol on the front, a smile spreads across my face as amusement overtakes my senses. In this note holds a scribbled message stating 'Thank You' in Saiyago. It is written in the most trying, horrendous, and absolutely hideous handwriting I have ever seen, though I would still give it a passing mark for effort. I chuckle aloud, despite the wee hours, but my amusement is short-lived. My smile quickly falters and becomes a scowl. It dawns on me that this fatal attraction is beginning to get out of hand, and will continue to be so if nothing is resolved.

Thus, I have decided.

It is merely lust for her flesh that I harbour. I will take what I yearn and get her out of my system come tomorrow. Mildly annoyed with my bizarre sexual situation, I shove the written note into the bedside drawer. It will be forgotten in time and I shall be rid of her once and for all.

Dawn rises and I am already up and about, dressed once more in my royal attire as I head out to meet my father for a political gathering with the councillors. A good time for the assembly to take place for it will take my mind off the frustrations I have had as of late. Or so I thought it would.

When I woke up this morning, I have changed my mind on engaging the girl. But as I sit behind the discussion table next to my sire, and the councillors debating about repetitive civil matters and matters of the court, I cannot help but let my mind wander towards her. I appear to be focusing on the issues at hand but I am hardly registering any of the talk, their voices fading insignificantly into the background. It isn't until my father's deep voice called for a dismissal that I snap back to reality. Without further ado, I remove myself from their presence.

I return to home immediately, anticipation pooling at the pit of my stomach. I enter the front door and tap on my scouter, allowing it to scan the perimeter. _Good, only three life forces_. I make my way to the living room to find two maids working and tell them that their duties are relieved for the day under the pretence that I am expecting guests. Once they are gone, I go to lock the main entrance and lean my back against the door, contemplating my next move.

There is one tiny life force left, and it is moving about in my bathroom.

Slowly, I make my way into the bedroom to find the lavatory door wide open. I don't know yet what to expect, but I do know what I want, and what I want, is _her_. As I stand by the door – blocking the only exit – my gaze falls on the blue-haired woman, who has her back to me and is hunched over the bathtub. _There will be no more escaping me._

She senses my presence and straightens up, and then whips around in surprise.

"Your Highness," she gasps, obviously startled by my unannounced presence. Her eyes widen with surprise and a hand pressed against her heaving chest.

Quickly, she moves to put away her cleaning tools, shoving them into the hidden compartment beneath the sink. I'd have never known there is even a compartment there had she not done so. She locks the cabinet and then proceeds to stand a few feet before me, her fingers lacing together at the front; her eyes taking shy glances at me.

I refrain from making any noise and she fidgets with much unease under my intense glare. My eyes skim down her length and up again, assessing and analysing, taking in all that I can before I make my move. Her pouty lips move and she speaks, politely telling me that she has completed her chore here and is about to leave, all in that gentle silvery tune she calls a voice. I do not respond, only allowing my eyes to convey what I have come here for and yet, she is oblivious… or is she?

She moves toward me, planning to leave the premise, and at once, I sidestep to block her path. She stops dead in her tracks and her eyes dart to my face. I look deeply into them and once again, found myself completely mesmerised by the glimmer in those sky blue orbs.

"You're not going anywhere," I mutter in a gruff manner, my voice guttural, sounding almost untamed with wanton.

She averts her gaze and lowers her head, her face flushed a heavy crimson. But with much caution, she dares a glance at me, albeit with a frightened expression, "Sire, o-other chores are waiti-"

"As of now, my demands override your duties," I chime in assertively and her eyes widen; taken aback.

"… Y-your demands?" she breathes out fearfully.

It is getting harder to keep a steady gaze on her. If she continues to keep up her submissive and timid demeanour like she is now, remaining a steady gaze will not be the only hardest thing around.

I look past her head and eye the giant mirror by the sink, then nod my head at it before meeting her eyes once more. "Stand over there by the mirror."

Obediently, despite the confusion in her manner, she turns around slowly and slinks toward the sink. I step in right after and take a stand behind her. My hands reach out on either side of her and I plant them on the sink counter, pushing her up against the edges as I trap her in between my arms. She gasps and by reflex, places her palms on the counter surface, and our eyes meet in the mirror.

"Who are you?" I lean in close to her ear and whisper.

Her lips part and close intermittently. Perhaps she is bewildered by such a question. Perhaps no one has ever asked.

"… 28001-"

"Not your servant tag. I want your name."

"M-my name?" she breathes out.

Her breathing is deep and steady, and if I were to look down, I would get a perfect aerial view of her ample mounds. But by some means her puzzlement to her own identity enthrals me more so.

My eyes slant and I blink, "You have a name, don't you?"

She nods her head and, through those pouty lips, projected is her voice rolling out a name as peculiar as her.

"… Bulma," she says softly and then restates, much more self-assured this time, "My name is Bulma."

"Bulma…" I repeat after her, sampling the sound and twirl of her name on my tongue. She nods.

"You are an Earthling," I assert and allow myself a whiff of her feminine scent.

"I _was_… an Earthling, Your Highness. Planet Earth no longer exists, therefore, I am a Human," she politely corrects me and I pause, raising a brow in mild surprise while drinking in the intelligence that is burning brightly within her eyes.

"You have light blue eyes," I utter as I stare at her deeply through our reflections, unconsciously falling prey to her charm and overall ethereal beauty, "I could have sworn they were a deep shade of azure."

She swallows and I observe the smooth rise and fall of the lump in her throat. "Eye colour cannot change, my lord."

I smirk, finding myself greatly amused with this little creature. In the last five minutes, she has kept me constantly pondering. I will have to admit that she impresses me greatly; and that is a difficult feat to achieve. I draw in a breath and then mould myself against her back. My legs shift to stand closer and my hands move to hold either side of her tiny waist, delighting in the way she tenses up under my touch.

"I've always _noticed_ you," I murmur next to her ear, fixating a firm gaze on her face in the mirror, "But I've never _seen_ you… until _that_ day."

Her body goes rigid at the mention of that fateful day and a second later, a faint, subtle hint of feminine arousal wafts gently through the air. She exhales through her lips and her chest begins to heave.

"I-I wasn't trying to-"

"Hush," I cut her off once more, my hands feeling up the contours of her slim waistline as I imagine how it will be like when she arches her back for me. Slowly, I reach up and feather my fingers up and down her arms. Then I encircle her wrists and glide down the back of her palms, flattening them and then lacing her fingers with mine as I pin them down firmly on the countertop.

"Tell me, what were you thinking of?"

Her brows crinkle and she shakes her head, closing her eyes to avoid my heated gaze. I do not prompt her to reopen her baby blues for when she is finally writhing in pleasure beneath me, my eyes will be all that she sees.

She does not answer me, displaying a case of stubborn silence. I lean in to her neck and exhale warm breath on her delicate skin. My tail uncoils from my waist and I drag its tip up and down her leg sensually, pushing its way up and under her dress, and then coiling it around her thigh near her heated sex as if it belonged there. She bites her bottom lip, perhaps resisting a moan, as I sample with the tip of my tongue the salty layer of sweat on her skin.

"Did you wish it was you beneath me?" I breathe out, my warm breath wafting over her sensitive skin.

She reopens her eyes and they meet my dark ones, and she may not realise it just yet, but they are heavily laden with a burning desire; an inferno of lust so strong that is causing my impressive control to slip and burn away into ashes, only to cast themselves against and within the temple that is her body.

I move my lips higher, my nose greedily drawing in her scent, and plant a kiss on the bone behind her earlobe. This time, I press my mouth to her ear and, ensnaring her with an intense gaze through the mirror, purr under my breath.

"I did."

* * *

**Funny that I used French as Saiyago, le sexy language fitting for le sexy Saiyan prince.**

**A/N (WARNING): While this chapter contains heavy sexual hints, the real M-rated scenes come only in the next chapter. Therefore, I have created a choice chapter concept for those who are underage or find sex scenes to be highly disturbing and inappropriate. If you fit the above criteria, do not read past this chapter unless you're a shameless horny pervert like yours truly, then please… be my guest and indulge. Don't let me stahp you.**

**Thanks for reading! Do review and tell me what you think of Chapter 2.**


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